


74. The Big Scene, Part I

by glitteredsins, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Antony Starr and Stephen Amell [74]
Category: Actor RPF, Arrow (TV 2012) RPF, Banshee (TV) RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), New Zealand Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteredsins/pseuds/glitteredsins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>General warnings: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization.</p><p>This is a really rough log. It is, however, something both our pups wanted and have been planning for months. They love each other deeply and, despite what happens in the log, this is fully consensual.</p><p>Specific warnings: anal hook, anal play, boot worship, breath play, cbt, clamps & weights, cutting, deep throating, double fisting, extreme beatings, extreme verbal and physical humiliation, fearplay, hitting, knifeplay, permanent piercing, piss play, punch/kicking play, slapping, suspension, urine ingestion</p>
    </blockquote>





	74. The Big Scene, Part I

**Author's Note:**

> General warnings: Please be aware that this log does not follow SSC or RACK principles. As well, although both pups are members of Citadel, the actions contained herein do not take place on Citadel property and are neither condoned nor endorsed by said organization.
> 
> This is a really rough log. It is, however, something both our pups wanted and have been planning for months. They love each other deeply and, despite what happens in the log, this is fully consensual.
> 
> Specific warnings: anal hook, anal play, boot worship, breath play, cbt, clamps & weights, cutting, deep throating, double fisting, extreme beatings, extreme verbal and physical humiliation, fearplay, hitting, knifeplay, permanent piercing, piss play, punch/kicking play, slapping, suspension, urine ingestion

He'd spent the day before setting up at the gym. Clearing space, rigging the chains - one set hung from the ceiling, another set fastened to a pop-up hook in the floor. He's got the cot from the back room set up in the office instead and Doc's on speed dial just in case. And the one side of the boxing ring is lined with a serious choice of implements: weights, clamps, needles, plugs, rings, ropes, cuffs, more chains, an anal hook upgraded to an extra-large stainless steel ball and, of course, the piercing set he'd got from Citadel.

Now, dressed like the night they made their contract permanent, in dark green camo pants and a tight black t-shirt as well as a thigh rig with the fake Glock and his own well-worn black leather combat boots, Antony's going over everything again. He shoves his favourite tactical knife in his belt, makes sure he has a set of blunt-nosed scissors on hand with the first aid kit, and grinning, works his pants open to slip on a heavy steel cock ring. Fuck.

Blood humming, he does one more check. He knows he has everything. He _always_ has everything, but this isn't just a job, this is Stephen, and as much as he wants to hurt his boy, wants his boy screaming, begging, soaked in tears, the idea that he might _really_ hurt him is one that chills him to the bone.

Hiking his backpack up on his shoulder, Stephen looks up at the brick outside of the rear of the gym - he takes a moment, draws a deep breath and counts it out as he exhales slowly. He's nervous, but excited, curious too as to what his Sir has lined up. He's spent the last hour preparing, he'd eaten a decent, carb heavy, breakfast before retreating to the bathroom to shower and douche thoroughly and then had driven himself over in his car.

Sliding a key in the lock he opens up and steps inside. He walks past the storeroom, on past the changing rooms and the office and through double doors to the main space. He stops a few feet in, because right there, waiting for him is his lover, his Sir. Antony.

The combats, the boots, the whole package - his bag slides from his shoulder.

"Hey." Antony gives Stephen a soft smile, quite enjoying the reaction. "How's it going?" he asks, closing the distance between them to pull Stephen into his arms and give him a kiss. Sure, he's going to beat the living shit out of him in a bit, but first things first.

Just the sight of Antony in that get up has Stephen sliding off into the beginnings of his sub space - the combats, the gun, the boots - yeah the boots. He kisses his Sir, his lips parting to allow Antony to explore his mouth and he lets out a soft noise of want.

"Mm. You taste good," Antony murmurs, finally drawing back before he gets ahead of himself. He takes a good look at Stephen's outfit - old jeans, a white tank, flannel shirt half-buttoned over it - and nods. He'd told him to wear old clothes, clothes he didn't mind having wrecked. "You brought a change of clothes, your collar?"

"Yes Sir, sweat pants, a tee and a zip up hoodie." He lifts the back pack. "My collar's in here." He's already sinking, his tone of voice has dropped and he's trembling - though it's faint at this point, a reaction to the adrenaline already coursing through his veins at just the thought of what's to come.

Antony nods. He gestures for Stephen to give him the bag and pulls his collar from it. "Do you want some water or anything before we get started?" he asks, removing Stephen's casual collar and replacing it with the chain slave collar, the lock snapped shut, his fingers lingering on his boy's throat.

"No, I'm good, I made sure I had a good breakfast before I left." Stephen shivers at the caress, his skin goose bumping. "Thank you Sir."

"You're welcome." Antony gives Stephen another kiss. "Now put your bag in the office and get rid of your boots and socks. You can leave everything else."

A brief nod and then Stephen's backing up, heading back through the doors to the office. He pulls up as he steps in, eyes on the cot set up there - for him - for later, after his Sir has totally destroyed him. He blows out a breath and sets his bag beside it, before bending to unlace and toe off his boots, and stuff his socks inside them. Without a further pause Stephen's turning back to the gym, back to his Sir.

When Stephen returns, Antony pulls him close once more, giving him another kiss. "I love you," he says softly but firmly. "You're my good boy and I love you more than anything in the world. You know that, right?"

Stephen turns his head to meet his lover's, his Sir's, gaze, which he holds for a moment. "Yes, of course I do. And I love you too, and I trust you," He knows it's important they reiterate this right now. Because he's certain he's going to have to hold on to that in the coming hours.

"Good. You ready?" Antony says, making sure they're both agreed on moving forward.

Just a moment, a pause, and then Stephen nods. "Yes Sir, boy is ready,"

"Good," Antony says again then steps back. Taking a long moment just to watch his boy - _his boy_ \- before he hauls and slaps him across the face.

To say that was unexpected would be an understatement. Antony rarely hits his face, but then that's the point of this scene; nothing is off limits. Stephen's head snaps around and he makes a surprised noise, taking half a step back, his arm coming up in reflex to ward off any further blows.

"Put your hand down and get on your knees," Antony orders, his cock swelling even harder inside its metal ring.

Lowering his arm, Stephen casts his Sir a suspicious look, and he holds his gaze as he falls to his knees, back straight. His tongue prods at the corner of his mouth, testing the still throbbing spot there.

He'd hit him in Italy, when Stephen had time off, but that had been spur of the moment, still meant not to mark. But this? Antony hits Stephen again. Palm flat against his cheek.

Something flares in Stephen's eyes at the second blow, that urge, that need to defend to fight back, but he tamps it down. Stephen's hands clench at his sides, balled into fists - he's not ready to let himself slide off fully into his head space yet - he wants to savour this before he does. He rights himself, almost defiantly, and waits for another.

"Look at you, you smug little bitch," Antony says, the way Stephen reacts spiking his arousal. Provoking that deep dark part inside him. "Acting all high and mighty when we both know what a fucking nasty pig you are."

"Do we?" It's not often Stephen challenges, verbally or otherwise, but he can see how his reaction so far is feeding a part of his Sir's need, a little fight often adds a little spice - and now seems perfect. "Is that what you think I am?"

"It's what I know you are," Anton returns calmly. "A dirty nasty fuck pig who needs to be hurt and fucked and put in his place."

"I _am_ in my place." Stephen looks down at himself and then up to his Sir. "I'm on my knees before you... where else should I be?" And if being called a 'dirty nasty fuck pig' has made Stephen as hard as fucking steel, he'd not deny it.

Antony hits him again. Just because. Because it feels good and makes him harder. "You're talking physically. I'm talking mentally, bitch," he says, grabbing the back of Stephen's neck and pushing his face to the floor. "If you're still mouthing off at me, you're not fucking there yet."

He's not - and Stephen's still deliberately fighting it. Head down, his Sir's fingers pressed into his nape, Stephen sucks in a breath, his cheekbone smarts at that last blow, his body is responding, even if his mind isn't, flushed with arousal, Stephen's dick kicks up. "No...no I'm not," he grinds out. _Make me...make me Sir..._

His grip tightening, Antony drags Stephen to the chains dangling from the ceiling. He grabs a pair of cuffs from the platform. "Give me your fucking hands."

This time he doesn't hesitate, this time Stephen knows to do as he's told, so he presents his hands, palm up and stands still and silent as his Sir wraps a cuff around each wrist.

Clipping the cuffs together, Antony raises Stephen's joined hands over his head and hooks them onto the chain. "That's better." He slaps Stephen's cheek again, but this time it's almost a taunt, a tease...

Pulling his face back from the recoil, Stephen swallows before he speaks. "You had to tie me up to hit me?" He figures he might as well sass, add a new angle to the play, because there's nothing more Antony can do to him that they don't already have planned.

"No." Antony shakes his head. "I had to tie you up to get you out of those clothes." The four inch tactical knife pulled from his belt.

Stephen stills the moment his gaze falls on the blade. "Fuck!" They've never indulged in knife play before, though he knows Antony likes it, and Stephen's heart rate kicks up a notch in response.

Antony laughs at Stephen's reaction. He taps the tip against his boy's chest. "Not feeling quite so mouthy now, are you, pig?"

Slowly, Stephen raises his gaze to meet his Sir's. "You won't hurt me with it," he states, it's all play... it really is all play. Right?

Antony just chuckles and shakes his head. He angles the blade under Stephen's shirt and slices downward, the buttons popping free in rapid succession. Uses his free hand to pull Stephen's jeans open, draw his zipper down, the blade right there, right at his belly, every nerve on edge, senses honed in on Stephen's reactions.

Perversely Stephen's now craving the kiss of the blade, he wants his Sir to cut him, to show him this is real - that this isn't play acting, that he really is going to hurt him beyond a few smacks to the face. "You won't hurt me," he hisses, the use of 'me' rather than 'boy' gives lie to where his head is starting to go. "You don't dare."

Antony nicks him with the tip, a perfect drop of blood welling up in its wake. He scoops it up with his finger, sucking the same into his mouth, slowly, deliberately, his eyes gone dark. "I will," he says. "In my own good time."

There's no stopping it now, Stephen moves from present to boy in a heartbeat. The exact moment between the perfect kiss of pain and his Sir tasting his essence; his pupils blow and all the arrogance bleeds from his posture - what's left behind is a boy desperate for his Sir's attention - however that attention is to be gifted.

Antony makes quick work of Stephen's clothes. Cuts his shirt from him, followed by his tank, his jeans and then shorts pulled from his feet. He'd intended to take longer with that but now he just wants his boy naked. Knife back in his belt for now, he grabs the anal hook with its oversized ball from the ring and lightly lubes it in front of Stephen.

It's all so efficient, so quick the way Antony handles the knife, how his clothes simply seem to fall away after a few swift swipes of his Sir's hand, and not once does that knife meet his skin again, even as he holds his breath. And when it's done, his Sir is there, teasing him with an anal hook, the ball of which is large, larger than Stephen would have preferred this early on. "It's...it's too big," he stutters out. "boy’s not ready yet..."

Antony's hand stills and he looks at his boy. "You think I give a shit?"

Stephen blinks, taken aback at the coldness. He swallows and takes a half step back - it's all the slack on the chains allow.

"This is all about me getting to hurt you, no holds barred," Antony says. "And this," he holds up the hook, "is gonna hurt."

"No... Sir no, this was about us... about you hurting boy, taking him with you, not...not just taking," Stephen protests, the chains rattling as he pulls on them some more, his eyes fixed on that hook. And despite his words, his body language, his cock is seeping strings of clear precum down to his feet. "Sir please..."

"That's not the way I remember it," Antony says, moving behind Stephen, one hand on his shoulder, holding him in place, while the other pushes that huge ball between his cheeks and against his hole.

The touch helps, even if it's just his Sir bracing himself, it's still skin contact. "It that all boy is? A thing for you to break?" He turns his head, seeking out his Sir's face, a connection, something.

Antony grins. "Damn right. A thing, a hole, a cunt... made to be hurt, fucked, bathed in my come and piss..." he grits out, working the ball harder against Stephen's hole until suddenly it pops right through that tight ring of muscle.

He may have prepped at home, but even so, the ball is a brutally tight fit and Antony is not gentle about getting it inside him, so Stephen is sucking in short panicky breaths as his body fights against it, until his ass gives and he howls out a noise of pain. "OHFUCK! Fuck!" His arms corded as he pulls against the chain, trying, in vain, to pull away.

"There you go." Antony gives him a slap on the ass, working the hook right in until it's nice and snug against his cleft. "Cunt filled just like it should be." The chain attached to the end of the hook pulled high and then higher still until he can clip it to the chains above, making sure Stephen will feel it with every single fucking movement.

Teeth bared Stephen growls out a noise that might be displeasure, or equally it may simply be discomfort. Because he really is fucking _uncomfortable_ , his asshole stings - he's sure he's split at least a little, and his whole body is vibrating with tension. He shuffles on his feet, trying to find the least painful place to stand - all in vain.

"What's wrong, boy?" Antony taunts, moving back around Stephen, his boy now trussed and hung exactly like he wants him. He slaps him on the cheek again, a comparatively loving slap this time, and pulls his knife from his belt again.

His Sir requires an answer, so Stephen straightens up just a little, even though it pulls on his ass. "Nothing Sir," he grinds out. "Nothing's wrong."

"Good. I'd hate to think you weren't enjoying yourself," Antony says with a small smile, touching the very tip of the knife to the inside of Stephen's hip.

He doesn't verbalise it, but Stephen's eyes flash a 'fuck you' before he can stop himself but he stills, breath held as that knife is pressed to his skin. The last cut, the small nick on his belly has already stopped bleeding, leaving just a small smudge of crimson as evidence.

"That's more like it," Antony says, amused, slowly drawing the blade down, blood welling in its wake.

It's a bright sharp pain, which has Stephen hissing, his head dropped forward so he can see. He watches as Antony cuts him, slow and deliberate, his Sir's delight obvious at the blood that seeps from his damaged skin. "Oh... oh fuck..." he breathes out - because this, this is perfect.

"You like that?" Antony murmurs, his cock twitching so violently it steals his breath away. He waits a second and then carves a second line, from the top of the first on an angle downward, before finishing the mark with one more line - this one bisecting the first two.

Even though he can't see properly, Stephen knows what Antony has carved in his skin. 'A'. The very thought makes his head swim. Arousal, endorphins, subspace, all crowd in on Stephen, pushing back, once more, the sass and fight of earlier. "Yessir... yours, boy is yours..."

Antony nods. "Yes, he is, and he'd better not ever forget it," he says softly, staring into Stephen's eyes. He slides the knife back into his belt and grabs a leather belt from the ring, folding it in half, the buckle against his palm, and moves behind Stephen, his boy's unmarked skin calling to him.

"Never," Stephen groans as the blood trickles, tickling his skin, running down the crease of his hip. Then Sir is gone from his sight and Stephen tries to turn to find him, but the hook in his ass pulls him up short. "Sir?... Sir?"

"I'm right here, boy," Antony answers, drawing back the belt and laying the first blow across the meaty part of Stephen's upper shoulders.

"Nnngggh." He wasn't expecting it, hadn't seen it coming, so the blow catches Stephen by surprise, he moves, half a step forward, which pulls the chain on the hook taut making him cry out again as the ball inside him moves over his prostate - its placement wickedly accurate.

"See? Nothing but a thing to be hurt, used..." Antony says, striking Stephen's shoulders again, his cock throbbing with every cry.

It's a storm of sensation, the blows to his back, the tug of the parted skin on his hip, the jerk-pull of the hook in his ass - and Stephen struggles to ride it out. Sweat blooms over his skin, beading and finally trickling along his torso, his arms, his legs, his dick never far from hard, softens and then thickens again with each movement of that hard, unforgiving ball buried deep inside him.

Antony works Stephen over with the belt. Moves from his shoulders to the backs of his thighs, the underside of his ass, careful not to catch the hook - especially with the way he's hitting.

His skin's on fire, that's what it feels like, burning heat interspersed with bursts of intense pain, and all Stephen can do is give into it. He cries out - angry at first, growling against the blows, until it becomes too much, then his noises take on a different timber, one of pure pain. There is nothing for him but pain, wave after blissful wave of pain.

Each ass cheek and both calves get their share of blows, Antony marking every single inch of skin that's safe to mark. He doesn't stop until his arm's aching, begging for a change of implement, of torment. He lays the belt down and picks up a handful of clamps, shoving a couple of weights in his pocket.

Suddenly there's a respite, breathing space. Stephen slumps against the chains, air stuttering in his lungs as he tries to catch his breath, his face is flushed, damp with sweat and all the skin on his back is screaming.

"Hey, stay with me," Antony says, slapping Stephen hard across the face again. Just because he can and because god knows how long it'll be before he can do it again. Fuck. "I'm not even close to being done with you," he tells him.

"Water," Stephen mumbles, as he puts his weight back on his feet and pulls himself up. "Please Sir... water."

There's one thing Antony won't deny Stephen and that's it. He grabs a bottle and uncaps it, hand going to the back of Stephen's head to help him drink.

Slow and steady, Stephen drinks, the cool water tastes perfect, some inevitably spills, seeping down his chin to drip onto his chest. When he's done he turns his head. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Antony says, letting his hand rest on Stephen's collar for a long moment before he moves to set the water aside and start in again. The first two clamps go on Stephen's nipples, biting into the sensitive flesh.

"Fuck!" Stephen spits out the expletive, pulling away as the second clamp is offered up. A different pain, another layer. His Sir's fingers sure and firm against his skin, there's no affection, no tenderness - it's all business like and cold.

"What do you think, pig?" Antony asks when the second clamp's on. "I've got weights too." Holding one up. "Nipples? Or should I save those for your balls?"

Stephen whimpers - the last time they played with ball weights it was punishment - and he hated it. Even so, it's preferable to them being placed on his nipples. "Balls Sir, please..."

"But they'd look so good here," Antony says, teasing the hook against one of the clamps already in place. Playing at being torn between the two choices. "I guess I can wait." He pulls up a fold of skin on Stephen's stomach and snaps another clamp in place. Two more follow in rapid succession, all above the cuts he made earlier.

The relief is momentary - because then Antony is tugging on the skin by the cuts, pulling open the wounds again. It makes Stephen jerk back - pulling hard on the anal hook, so hard he screams out a noise, right into his Sir's face.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Antony growls, grabbing Stephen's jaw, fingers digging in. "You can't even take this much, what makes you think you can take all the shit I have planned? Pussy."

A long slow blink as he lets the pain subside, then Stephen wriggles his fingers, steeling himself before he whispers a soft, heartfelt, "Fuck you," in his Sir's face.

"Yeah?" Antony balls up a fist and punches Stephen in the gut. "Mouthy little shit."

Stephen's eyes widen as his breath is knocked out of him, the momentum of the blow has him swinging back on the chains, causing the hook to pull once more, he makes a strangled noise - pain, shock and outrage all rolled into one.

"Want to try again?" Antony taunts.

This time Stephen's smart enough to keep his mouth shut, but the look he gives his Sir is pissed, a promise of retribution when he's able. Nostrils flared he sucks in breath after breath.

"Thinking about all the ways you're gonna get back at me, are you?" Antony asks, because yeah, that one's easy enough to guess. He grins and snaps a clamp onto the end of Stephen's cock.

All coherent thought leaves Stephen in an instant - it's all he can do to keep breathing. The pain from all the other clamps combined don't even come close to the agony this one causes him, the chains rattle as he dances on the spot, his knees weakening.

Fuck. Antony's cock throbs so violently it _hurts_ , although nowhere near as much as that clamp hurts Stephen. "Mm. I like that one," he says, snapping at it with his fingers.

"Fff...fu..ck...y..you," Stephen literally spits out the words, his saliva bubbling on his lips, spraying in his Sir's face. Everything hurts right now - and he's still not been able to fall into the absolute head space that leaves him pliant and able to drown in endorphins. There's a plus side to being present though - he gets to recall every brutal detail.

"And here I thought you were quicker to learn than that," Antony says, giving him another punch to the gut, this one even harder than the first.

This time Stephen has just enough warning to brace himself, but only just. He drops his chin down, licks over his lower lip and tries to centre himself. He needs to find a way to ride this out, otherwise he'll struggle to get through this. He's sure Antony has only just started.

Antony grabs Stephen's balls, fingers circled tight round the base as he snaps two clamps onto them. Well-aware he's barely giving his boy any time to adjust when he clips the weights on as well and lets go.

"No! Nonononono..." Howling out his protest, Stephen pulls himself up on the chain, his whole body taut, trembling. "Stop! Sir...STOP!..."

"I'm not even close to stopping yet," Antony says, slowly shaking his head. He fetches the belt from the ring again, doubles it up and slaps the front of one thigh and then the other.

The bite of the leather is a pain Stephen can process. So he concentrates on that, doing his best to shut down all the other things his body is protesting about. His teeth are set, his jaw ticks and sweat runs over fevered skin.

But Stephen's still too composed, nowhere near being broken, not yet. Antony brings the edge of the belt in against the first nipple clamp, snapping it free from the skin.

Roaring out an indignant noise of pain, Stephen pulls back, swinging on the chains, not caring that it shifts the ball deep inside him. His face scrunches up, tears finally tracking down, adding to the damp of the sweat on his skin.

And the other one. The moment Stephen starts to recover, Antony snaps it free with the belt.

Hiccuping in an effort to breathe, Stephen lifts pain hazed eyes to meet his Sir's gaze. "Stop..." he pleads. "Please... Sir... stop... just... just for a moment."

"You've taken more for me before, boy," Antony says, wrapping his hand around the back of Stephen's neck, their foreheads pressed together. "You can do this."

Stephen very much doubts he's taken more - not like this - but that touch, the words, the connection - pull him back from whichever panicked place he was headed. Breath stuttered as he inhales, he closes his eyes and murmurs out a rough, "I can?" He needs some reassurance, a moment to bolster his confidence.

"Yeah, you can. I know you can," Antony says, nodding, shifting so he can kiss Stephen. Soft and warm and firm. "You _always_ make me so proud of you."

It's what he needed to hear, and the kiss goes a long way to grounding him, so when Antony pulls away Stephen nods. "I need to make you proud, I need to make you happy..." the words are murmured as he brings his gaze up to meet his Sirs. "I'll take whatever makes you happy."

Antony nods. "I'm going to take the others off too," he says, nodding at the clamps. Thinking maybe it's better to give Stephen the warning for now. Let him steel himself. "Except the ones on your balls."

Licking over his lower lip Stephen gives his Sir a quick nod of understanding, then he reaches up with his fingers to grasp the chains above his cuffed wrists, his whole upper body tensed, his arms corded, Stephen braces himself for the inevitable agony.

Antony snaps off the first two - the clamps on Stephen's stomach - one right after the other, his gaze flickering between his boy's face and his task.

A grunt, nothing more, and Stephen's eyelids flicker before he blows a breath out through his nose. The next one is the one on his cock, which is excruciating as it is - when it comes off? Yeah, it's gonna smart some.

The only problem with warning Stephen about what's coming is it allows him to control his reactions. And it's those other reactions, those gut reactions, the uncontrolled ones, the shock, the surprise, the tears, those are the ones Antony wants the most. He snaps the clamp from the end of Stephen's cock.

A moment of blinding agony radiates out from his penis up his torso and along his limbs until it's all Stephen can think about, all he can feel - all the other pains and discomforts pale in comparison. Any noise he might have made is lost as his breath catches in his throat on a sharp inhale.

"Good boy," Antony says, deciding to take a different tack than planned. There'll be plenty of time for cold and calculated humiliation when he's got Stephen back down on the floor. "That's it." He gives him a moment to recover then holds up the belt. Making it clear he intends to mark the front of him just as he marked his back. "Ready?"

It's kind of irrelevant if he is or not, in fact Stephen's barely got his breath back before the first blow lands. This is more familiar pain, a pain he can lose himself in, so he tries, eager to drown in the endorphins his body is producing, eager for some respite.

Antony works him over. Works Stephen's front over as thoroughly as he did his back. Cock and balls avoided. For now. Pauses every so often to drag his nails over heated, far-too-sensitive skin, before starting in again.

Losing track of time, Stephen takes each blow, eyes closed, he jerks and moans when the leather strikes a particularly tender spot. His hands are starting to tingle - but he's too out of it to warn his Sir.

Finally satisfied with what he's done for now, Antony sets the belt down and moves in close, wrapping his hand around Stephen's cock and stroking firmly.

Stephen lifts his head, he whimpers at the touch, his arousal had faded somewhat, but it comes roaring back until his Sir's fingers are sticky with precum, his cock achingly hard. The unconscious movement of his hips push the ball of the anal hook against the tender bundle of nerves in his ass. "Please....please..."

"Please what?" Antony demands, wanting the words.

Stephen doesn't expect to get it, but he asks anyway. "P..please Sir. Please can...b..bboy cum?"

Antony nods, his strokes sure and insistent. "Go ahead. Paint my fingers with it."

Still stealing himself for a refusal, it takes Stephen more than just a few moments to process his Sir's words. Then his body takes over, and when he cums, it's just more agony for Stephen as his ass clenches down on the unforgiving metal of the too large ball on the anal hook.

"Beautiful," Antony murmurs, his own ache growing with every thick spurt over his skin. He licks the come from one finger and then wipes the rest on Stephen's chest. Gives him one more kiss before moving around him to unfasten the hook from the top chain followed by Stephen's wrists. But freed, he only moves his boy to the hook on the floor, his cuffs clipped to short length of chain attached to it instead. The ball and hook left inside him. For now.

Arms tingling from the sudden rush of blood, Stephen whimpers as he's manhandled to the floor. He falls to his knees as the chain is clipped to the floor. He's shivering, skin goose bumping, and he can feel his own semen drying on his skin.

"Look at you," Antony says, nudging at Stephen's leg with his boot. "Fucking pig."

 _Boots..._ Stephen shuffles around, the verbal humiliation doing what it always does - pushing him down into a much more docile, spaced out mental place. He reaches out to rub the pads of his fingers over the toe of his Sir's leather boot - an illicit, uninvited caress, but one Stephen can't stop himself from making.

"Did I say you could touch, bitch?" Antony pulls the boot back. "You want those, you'd better convince me you deserve them." He unzips his combats and pulls out his cock, giving himself a couple rough strokes, the ring biting in deeper.

Flushing at the reprimand, Stephen pushes himself up into his presentation position, knees apart, hands on his thighs, palm up. Hoping this show of respect may go some way to making up for his infringement. He lifts his gaze to his Sir's face, even though he wants to watch that beautiful thick cock as Sir strokes himself off.

Fuck. Stephen's beauty steals his breath away. Always. But especially here, like this, bruises rising, face and body marked, smeared with blood and come. Antony shifts closer, rubbing the head of his cock against his boy's mouth. "What do you say, pig?"

 _Oh...fuck..._ As much as Stephen would love to taste, indeed all he can smell right now is his Sir's sex, Stephen wants to be marked even more. He pushes back the urge to lick out, instead he speaks the words, his lips skimming over precum slick skin. "Please... please mark boy, claim him as yours Sir..." His voice is rough, thick, but steady. Unlike the rest of him.

"I will," Antony promises, pushing his cock harder against Stephen's lips. "But first I want to fuck your throat."

And with Antony, that's never an idle threat. They've slowly been working on overcoming Stephen's gag reflex, but they're not quite there yet... he opens his mouth eagerly, loves the heavy weight of that thick meaty cock against his tongue, the salty sweet taste that is his Sir. Tilting his head back he opens his throat showing his absolute submission to the demand.

Antony wraps a hand around the back of Stephen's neck and slowly pushes into his mouth, cock sliding across his tongue, into that wet heat. He draws back then pushes in, a little deeper each time.

Closing his lips around the veiny flesh, Stephen sucks as his Sir penetrates his mouth, eyes open to look up past the camos, the tee, to his Sir's face. A face flushed with power and pleasure.

"That's it," Antony praises. "Open up for me," moving forward, into Stephen's throat, deeper and deeper with each gentle thrust.

His fingers press hard into the flesh on his thighs and Stephen concentrates on his breathing, his nostrils flaring with the effort as Antony cuts off any chance of drawing air in through his mouth and he has to time breaths when Sir is on an 'out' stroke.

"Good boy," Antony murmurs, pushing still deeper, so close to Stephen having it all.

Stephen's eyelids flutter at the praise, it's a small warmth as he kneels on the hard floor, his body aching, his skin tender and sore, bruises slowly blooming under his skin, his left cheekbone swelling from a couple of hard smacks. He feels used, beaten, but he's also certain his Sir has so much more to do to him.

"That's it. Just like that," Antony says, pushing in _all the way_ , his hand tight on the back of Stephen's neck, the cock ring pressed to his boy's lips.

A heartbeat, a moment of stillness, and then Stephen's subconscious need to breath kicks in and he starts to struggle, his throat flexing around the rigid flesh, his eyes widen as he looks up, his panic clear and present. At first his hands flutter in his lap, then Stephen's reaching up, pawing at his Sir's pants as Antony holds him still. Flushed, eyes brimming with tears, saliva spills off his chin.

Antony pulls back, giving Stephen room to breathe, then pushes in again, all the way in, groin pressed to his boy's nose for a quick count of three. And again.

There's little to like about being choked - so much of the experience is trying to deal with inbuilt autonomic reactions. But he keeps his eyes open, the tear blurred sight of his Sir the only thing that grounds him as he takes the most brutal throat fucking of his life.

The sight of his boy, like this, on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, while he does his best to take every fucking inch his sir gives him is hands down one of the hottest things Antony's ever seen. And he doesn't hold back. He fucks Stephen's throat until even the cock ring can't keep him from coming and then pulls out, painting his boy's face with hot thick strands of white.

Sucking in lungfuls of air, Stephen almost misses the moment to bask in being marked. His upturned face is spattered, he licks out capturing just a small taste, but his throat is tender as he swallows, and he brings up one hand to wipe the heel over his eyes to clear away the tears.

"Good boy," Antony says again, touching Stephen's cheek. "We'll take a bit of a break now." He grabs the already opened bottle of water and hands it to Stephen, making sure his boy gets a decent amount into him. "You want a blanket?"


End file.
